


Tiqulk

by knightship



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Magical Possession, Original Magical Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:20:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightship/pseuds/knightship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like waking up from a dream to find he's been sleepwalking, only now Arthur's face swims in front of him, looking terrified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiqulk

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here on my livejournal back in 2011.

There is a spirit that guards a grove of trees in Albion. It's name is Tiqulk, and one day, it starts to feel the edge of death creeping at it's border. And with it comes the bitter tinge of desperation.

*  
Merlin isn't quite sure what's going on. One minute he's walking through the forest like he's in a fever dream, just the bright mottled light and the smell of fresh life around him. And then it's suddenly hard and visceral as a bright form twists through the air, hits him hard in the chest and sucks the air right out of his lungs.

And then it's back to feverish wandering, only this time he's aware that something isn't right and he _hurts_ , in that place behind his sternum where his magic will gather like a steady, extra heartbeat. His vision dampens suddenly, and he feels like he's drowning in his own body and he fights to scream. Water or something thicker pours down his throat and suffocates him, and he falls into silence.

*  
"Merlin, stop!" He hears the voice ringing in his ears, feels himself rooted with determination and power. It's like waking up from a dream to find he's been sleepwalking, only now Arthur's face swims in front of him, looking terrified. He holds a spear in one hand and holds the other up, like he's trying to calm someone. And then he realizes that there's a buzz of rage, quite disconnected from his own feelings but still there somehow, and magic pulses down his arm, lancing from his fingertips. Arthur jerks, pain on his face, and Merlin is struggling inside his own limbs again, trying to get a noise out, when he falls.

*  
Gwaine has him pressed into the dirt, and he's snorting dead leaves up his nose trying to breathe as the other man trembles over him.

"Quick, give me the bottle!" Glass presses at his lips, Gwaine bruising his jaw as he tries to pry his mouth open, and he tastes the familiar combination of one of Gaius' sleeping draughts. He still doesn't know what's going on but he's pretty sure something else is in control, so he knows he should just swallow. But he's scared. It's unimaginably terrifying to find someone else at the reins, and they can just play with his magic however they want. The thought that he could go to sleep again and wake up ki-hurting someone makes him want to burst from his own skin from the horror of it.

He feels a tingle, a tendril of curiosity, a touch of sorrow. And for one moment he can spit the potion out and gasp, relief and fear stinging in his eyes. He can feel it close, watching his motions critically. As wetness trails down his face he manages to twist, looking up at Gwaine and gasping,

"Please, help me, make it let go!" Gwaine's face slackens in shock and then he says tentatively,

"Merlin? Is that you?" He nods frantically, and Gwaine's grip starts to slacken.

The thing rears up again in a wave, and he screams as it crashes down.

*  
When he wakes up the next time, he pretends he's still scared. The...whatever it is relaxes it's hold on him. He tenses his muscles just to feel if he can control them himself.

And then he throws his magic, his rage, his strength, his entire self at it and demands that it _get the hell out_.

It's like battering himself against glass- he slips and slides against it, and it reaches it's branches out, coiling down his limbs. He shrieks an animal cry of fury and hurls himself against it harder, battering himself senseless. He tries to imagine himself sharp, like a lance, and tries to shatter the glass, but he just skitters against it.

He hears someone screaming, people talking, and tries to ignore it. He reaches as deep within himself as he can go, til it starts to ache of empty, raw nerves, and he pulls out dragons and fire and the kind of solitary, inhuman rage that will fester for millennium and wait to strike. And he shapes himself into a winged beast that claws at the glass and bites until it bleeds, and he forgets his name in the overwhelming need to _destroy_ so he can _get free and fly_.

The glass cracks, strains, and shatters. He unfurls like a hurricane and suddenly isn't sure what to do with himself, because he's cold and wet and shivering on the forest floor. He stares at his fists for a moment, completely thrown by soft, fragile mammal flesh. Where are his scales and wings and...?

And then it crashes down on him so hard that his vision pulses and he feels himself sway, and then there's a hot, dry hand settling heavily on his bare spine. He jumps and looks up, ready to do...something. Anything. But it's Arthur, and he staring forward. 

Merlin looks up. Something shining white and as tremulous as smoke is settling low to the ground, and when it seems to calm, it takes the form of a stag with huge, branching antlers. It lays slumped on the ground, it's shape flowing and insubstantial. It raises it's head wearily, and Merlin hears it's deep, gentle voice in his head.

" _Emrys. I am sorry for what I have done to you. But I do not regret taking the lives of human men. For years they have destroyed the forest without regard for the magic within it or the harm they created. I only wished...for them to feel my pain..._ " It was becoming quickly clear that the creature was dying, and Merlin was torn. It was a creature of magic, surely some sort of guardian spirit, and yet it'd claimed his body and committed murder in his name.

That wasn't something he could just forgive. 

And then it laid it's head down and a gust of wind shook the trees, and the wind tore the animal to tatters. 

*  
"Forty." 

Merlin swallows and stares at his hands. The not-claws-but-fingers-and-nails thing was still getting to him, but slowly he was regaining himself. Right now, though, he wishes whole-heartedly he really was a dragon, so he wouldn't have to feel this remorse.

"There's nothing you could have done," Arthur says sternly, pressing a plate of stew into Merlin's hands. 

"I could have fought back earlier. I could have not panicked," he murmurs, setting the plate aside. He's starving, but the thought of eating makes him want to vomit.

Gwaine hands him the easier fare of bread, and he nods in silent thanks as Arthur huffs. 

"Merlin, you were being controlled by a ludicrous earth spirit. To think you could have thrown him off at all is amazing, let alone after only three days." There's a moment of silence as Merlin makes himself swallow bits of bread and not think about forty newly dug graves, clods of dirt still warm and soaked with blood.

"He wasn't ludicrous, by the way," he mumbles inelegantly around a bite, "he was just angry. Apparently humans had been destroying his home, and he wanted...revenge, I suppose." Now that he's subsided to his appetite he can't seem to eat fast enough, and it's only Arthur removing the bread from his hands and then handing it to him in chunks that keeps him from getting hiccups.

"And how did you learn this?" Gwaine asks with a certain amount of smugness nestled in his eyebrows. Merlin stops chewing for a second, then answers sheepishly,

"Um, he, ah, told me. Before I got him out." He gives them both I-am-completely-innocent eyes before continuing his meal, and Arthur scoff cheerily,

"Well, at least he's dead now." Merlin feels his heart clench.

"Yeah, at least he is," he says hollowly, and wonders why it hurts to say that.

*  
Merlin comes across the grove of trees on their way back to Camelot. 

His horse, who he's named Letta because she reminds him of a rather doe-eyed girl back in Ealdor, starts tugging against the reins as he's following Arthur and Gwaine along the path. He tries to nudge her back onto the track, but she's nosing her way through the underbrush, snuffling and snorting with happiness. He lets her, keeping one eye on Arthur and Gwaine.

Suddenly she lurches forward, taking him off the path completely. Merlin calls out in alarm, trying to manhandle his mare back into submission. She just jerks her head, nearly snapping the reins out of his hands, and continues bustling through young saplings and ferns, towards a dense circle of ancient trees. 

Letta pauses, and he climbs down quickly to grab her reins when he sees the sweet old willow tree in the center of the grove. It's out of place here- there shouldn't be enough water for it, and from the brown-green of it's usual grayish leaves, Merlin would say it isn't doing so well. But the light catches a ripple of silver among it's branches, and he steps forward curiously.

It's a young stag, composed of the same silvery substance as the one that had possessed him. This one's horns are small, and covered in the silvery buds of flowers. It's front leg, though, is twisted at an unnatural angle, a birth defect of some sort, and it has to hobble over to him to nuzzle at his slack hand.

" _I am called Tiqulk. I did not have the opportunity to tell you this before. But now I have been reborn, and my anger is gone. I must move to healing my lands_."

Merlin stares at it's compassionate, swirling eyes, and he can see the remorse in them. He slides his hand down the creature's elegant neck and he can see images flashing across his eyes. Fires to burn out prey. Trees cut down in swatches to make room for farms. Too many magical beasts hunted down and slaughtered for their meat, their medicinal properties. 

Too much blood spilled into the soil, scarring this creature until rage and possession are it's only outlet. An act of utter desperation, born out of love.

"You must promise not to kill anymore. I know the people haven't been fair to you, but you have to find other ways to defend yourself. Revenge is not the answer," he says softly, and Tiqulk dips his head. One of the small flowers adorning it's horns suddenly bloomed, turning a pale blue, the edges painted silver. The flower fluttered off, and Merlin caught it instinctively.

When he looked up, Tiqulk was gone. And the willow was covered in soft blue blooms, lined with silver.


End file.
